


This Could Be Good

by orphan_account



Series: She Keeps Me Warm [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, F/F, First Meetings, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-04 13:33:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I first saw you in winter.</p><p>The snow fell on the first of December, dusting the flowers in my garden in white and frosting the spiders' webs.</p><p>I saw you hiding beside a red rose bush, wrapped in your big brown coat and shivering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Could Be Good

I first saw you in winter.

 

The snow fell on the first of December, dusting the flowers in my garden with white and frosting the spiders' webs. I pulled on my clothes; lacing my corset quickly and pulling my warmest wool dress on. I tied up my soft leather boots and pulled my fur cloak on. I opened the back door and hurried down to my flowers.

 

I saw you hiding beside a red rose bush, wrapped in your big brown coat and shivering. You looked up at me, your brown eyes fearful and frightened. I couldn't help but to reach out my hand and cup your hollowed cheek to warm you with the touch of my bare skin. You flinched away from me, but I persevered until you finally leant into my embrace as I knelt on the brittle, cold ground beside you. When you had stopped shaking so much, I brought you into the drawing room and sat you in the softest, cosiest armchair before preparing you some hot cocoa over the roaring fire.

 

You slipped off the chair to kneel beside me, watching the iron kettle boil. I, however, watched your face and the orange light that illuminated the caves of your eyes and cheeks. You looked entranced, as though flames were something rare and special.

 

I was still staring at you when you turned to meet my gaze. It was the first time that we had made eye contact, and I suddenly felt as though my heart was being pulled out of my chest slowly.

 

"Your eyes are so blue," you said, entranced. "Like how people describe the ocean in these poetry books I nick sometimes. Or the sky on those rare summer days when all the rich and poor are happy and not even Hell could get rid of those moments of bliss."

 

You blushed, and I reached out and tucked a strand of your auburn hair behind your ear, keeping your gaze. "Yours are brown, like the earth in which flowers grow. You see the oceans of poetry in my eyes, while I see the ground of reality in yours."

 

We leaned in, close enough to rest our foreheads against each other, and your breath smelt of whiskey but I didn't care. You seemed hesitant, but your hand made its way to my waist. I closed my eyes, resting my left hand over your own on the brickwork beside the fire with the other on the nape of your neck. My fingers tangled themselves in your hair, attaching us in a way far beyond the mere physical. This could have been the motion that told you silently to move your head slightly to bring our lips together chastely.

 

I didn't even know your name then.

 

Our fingers ended up intertwined, your rough and calloused thumb stroking my pale one, used to the smooth touch of silk gloves and almost unnoticeable seams. This new contact was so much more than anything I had felt before, and I craved more. I brought our lips together again desperately and repeatedly until your chapped ones were just as rosy as my own.

 

"Will anyone walk in on us?" you asked me nervously. You glanced to the door for the first time since you had vacated the chair. It was still closed.

 

"Only Toussaint and my Papa," I replied.

 

"Who're they?" I raised an eyebrow at you, and you laughed throatily. "I mean Toussaint, though I'd like to hear you talk about your papa too."

 

"Toussaint is our servant," I explained, dropping my hand from your hair to gesture with it, though I allowed myself to drag my fingers down to linger on your shoulder for a moment. "She has a stutter, but we don't make fun of her for it and nobody at the market does anymore because she's so kind and good. We saved her from the hospital and she's a lot better now because we could afford to pay for her medicine."

 

"And your papa?" You seemed enchanted by faeries, but only looked at me.

 

"He is kind and good. We go to the streets and give to the poor, since we have too much money. But he tries to keep me in comfort, though I would prefer to give the money that goes to all of my excesses to them, too. He paid the covenant that taught me a large sum of money, instead of leaving me to pay them by becoming a nun. He seems intent on giving me freedom without being able to hurt at all." I glanced around, before lowering my voice. "But he is secretive, and seems fond of giving himself as little as possible. He seems to only wish to survive, and not to enjoy the things he lavishes on me. He will go to the opera, but only to accompany me."

 

I blushed when I realised how much I spoke. You saved me from my embarrassment by responding in a similar way. "My mother and father are crooks. They're rotten to the bone, you see, and only care for money. My mother stopped caring for me and my sister as soon as our inn closed, and we've been running errands for them ever since."

 

"Why?" I asked you, before realising how insensitive I sounded.

 

You brushed your hand through my hair before picking out a golden lock and twirling it around your finger, smiling. "They're awful people, but blood is thicker than water."

 

I coughed in the way one of the uptight men in the Jardin du Luxembourg did when he was about to lecture his child. "The blood of the covenant is thicker than the waters of the womb." At your confused expression, I added, "You choose your family."

 

You grinned at me, showing crooked yellow teeth. "My little brother's on the streets. He looks okay. His name's Gavroche. Maybe I'll try to join him. I'm probably too old, though."

 

"How old are you?" You seemed as though you could be anywhere between sixteen and thirty.

 

"Fifteen," you answered.

 

My suprise must have shown, because you looked ready to flee until I smiled and replied, "Me too."

 

I heard the water boiling in the kettle, so I picked up a couple of cups that I kept on the mantelpiece for this very purpose and poured out a generous amount into each teacup before giving one to you. It was my favourite, painted with mock-watercolour roses and gilded on the edges.

 

"What's your name?" I finally asked.

 

"Éponine Thénardier," you said, sipping your cocoa.

 

"Cosette Fauchelevant," I replied.

 

I felt my heart beat with the strength of a thousand armies when I looked into your eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> vwee this was suppose to be "eponine is a mythological creature who only appears during winter" but oh well canon era lesmisbians works i guess.
> 
> Title from She Keeps Me Warm by Mary Lambert.


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